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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26643106">Two Demons Walk Into a Hot Topic</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account'>orphan_account</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Brimstone Valley Mall - The Whisperforge (Podcast)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Hornblas and Belzagor r bis in an open relationship don't @ me, I'll add more characters as this goes, M/M, No Beta We Die Like Episode 5 Mall Employee, slowburn</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 09:08:16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,699</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26643106</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>"NO ONE who worked at hot topic should look like they had their life together. It defied the laws of nature. "</p><p>Trent pays someone a visit, and everything goes downhill from there.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Background Belzagor/Hornblas, Misroch/Asmoraius, Trent/Asmoraius, Trent/Misroch/Asmoraius</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>32</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Two Demons Walk Into a Hot Topic</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This is VERY canon divergent. Set around some time before episode four but like, a year earlier than the actual story events. Y2K isn't a thing yet. Will eventually get into spoiler regions.</p><p>Also, if you're tired because of all of the dialogue: sucks for you I can't write anything BESIDES dialogue.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Misroch felt tired, which wasn’t anything new. In general, the band and its members were already a huge toll on the consciousness, and with the added burden of their prestigious dining establishment… well, it didn’t come as a surprise that every day with no fail the bags under their eyes remained and a permanent scowl burrowed itself deep into their human skin. On some days the bags got worse, but never better.  It seemed almost impossible to get rid of it at this point. Even Asmoraius' constant attempts at using skin care products never livened up the dark circles, and Misroch was too guilty about how things ended to deny him at least this small bit of interaction at home. </p><p>Misroch sighed, a deep and guttural noise that echoed upwards from the gates of hell. </p><p>Trainee usually didn’t come in until an hour from now, and Xaphan was probably still too asleep in the drills section of Shalom Depot to come bother them. Which was <b><em>good </em> </b> <em> .  </em> <em> They </em><em>didn’t have to deal with their bullshit so early in the morning. </em> </p><p>The kitchen floors gleamed under the harsh lighting as Misroch glided from one part of the room to the other. The de-nailed fingers were already defrosting on one of the counters and they still had to work on cutting up some thighs after Asmo's rather embarrassing but effective attempt at seducing them. Misroch had burned the apron after that, reasoning with themself that <em> “it wasn’t up to code” </em> or whatever other concoction they could come up with at the moment just to stop thinking about their ex.  </p><p>Misroch raised their cleaver and brought it down. <b> <em> Thud. </em> </b> <b>  </b> Raise it up.  <b> <em> Thud.  </em> </b> Bring it down.  <b> <em> Thud.  </em> </b> </p><p>They went on like that for a while, chopping and depositing the meat in the right containers. It was calming in its violence. There wasn’t any talking or rampant stupidity to control, just the steady beat of their cleaver as they sliced through pounds of flesh. </p><p>Raise it up. <b> <em> Thud.  </em> </b> Bring it down.  <b> <em> Thud. </em> </b> </p><p>A knock on the door broke their concentration. </p><p><b> <em> Fucking hell. </em> </b> </p><p>Misroch stared at the metal door and decided it could wait a few seconds. They took a towel from the counter, sliding it off and using it to wipe the blood and gunk off of their hands. It was probably trainee. That brat's egg pet was annoying but at the very least they were on <em> time </em>  after that disaster of a first day <em> . </em> Unlike Hornblas. Where in the hell did that dipshit even go? </p><p>Misroch haphazardly threw the towel into the sink and walked over to the door. The handle was cold to the touch. </p><p>They opened the door. </p><p> </p><p>Now, this was probably the time a good employer would greet their employee, maybe ask how their day was going so far; but no, this was Misroch. The laws of human sensibilities were arbitrary didn't make any sense. They didn’t know why they’d have to stoop so low as to follow them. </p><p> “Get to<b> <em>fucking</em></b> work mort-“ </p><p>“Hello!” </p><p>Misroch's eyes narrowed, neck immediately craning upwards. Trainee definitely got taller way too fast. Voice got deeper too. When did trainee wear pink? As a matter of fact, when did trainee get <b> pecs </b>? </p><p><em> Yeah </em>, this person was definitely not trainee. </p><p>“Who the <b><em>fuck </em></b>are you?” </p><p>The person on the other side backed up a few steps. Now that their nose wasn’t mercilessly assaulted by the scent of mint and morning dew, (Gross.) Misroch was finally able to focus on the intruder. (Who the <b> hell </b>   <em> smelled  </em>like that anyway? It was unreal.) </p><p>The guy was... well, the guy was tall. Annoyingly tall. He was nearly a head taller than them, just above Asmoraius' height but still shorter than Belzagor Really, Misroch didn’t know what the <em> fuck </em>  the world had against them. Even <b><em>Xaphan</em></b>and trainee were taller than them. </p><p>“I’m Trent. Nice to meet you! I work over at hot topic on the second floor.” </p><p>Trent’s demeanor was open and welcoming. Misroch immediately felt on edge.<b> <em>No one</em></b> who worked at hot topic should look like they had their life together. It defied the laws of nature. </p><p>Misroch scrunched their nose. “You?” </p><p>Trent’s head tilted in confusion. “Yeah?” </p><p>“Work at hot topic?” </p><p>“Yeah. Why?” </p><p>“Are you sure you don’t work at Lollister?” </p><p>Trent laughed, dimples deepening. It was light and warm, the kind of laugh that would lighten someone’s mood if they weren’t Misroch. Unfortunately, Misroch was… well, Misroch. It did nothing to alleviate their disdain. </p><p>Trent wiped at a stray tear that formed at the edge of his eye. “I’m sorry, it’s just that I received those exact same words the other day. Do I really look like I wouldn’t work at hot topic?” </p><p>“Yeah, no shit. Triple popped collar? Are you insane?” </p><p>“I think it looks quite nice.” </p><p>Misroch let out a long, exasperated sigh that heavily involved their back slumping against the door frame. </p><p>“Look, human—“ </p><p>“Human—?“ </p><p>“I don’t have time for this. I have a prestigious Weiner counter to take care of, and you are <b> WASTING</b>.<b>MY</b>.<b>TIME</b>. ” </p><p>“Wait-” </p><p>Misroch shut the door. They could hear the person shuffle outside; probably contemplating on whether to continue annoying them or not. Misroch didn’t care enough to find out. </p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>By the time lunch rolled over, the food court was bustling with customers. A few settled at the tables to eat and chatter amongst themselves; some had even sat in front of Wiener World. The problem was, none of them were exactly… well, <em> interested </em> , in Weiner World’s  wieners . Only  five people had bothered to come to the counter since  11:30, and  one of them had the <b><em>gal </em></b>to comment about the fries and chips tasting “funny”.   Misroch  had taught  <em> them </em>  a lesson by shoving fries down their throat. <b><em>Chef's orders.</em></b></p><p>And then there was Trainee and her damned tamagotchi. </p><p>Misroch sighed and banged their head on the kitchen counters. The utensils clattered. This place was hellish, but at least it wasn’t hell. </p><p>With a loud groan, they stood and picked up a tray of food that Belzagor ordered. Loathe they were to admit, there was nothing wrong with taking a break from work if you didn’t have any actual <em> work  </em>to do. </p><p>Misroch slipped out of Weiner World and brought the tray to the front of the shop where Belzagor was sitting at a nearby table. She was tinkering again with that accursed fur baby of hers. Misroch could feel its eyes following them everywhere. </p><p>They slammed the tray on the table and watched as the cold glass of Coke-Not-Cola sloshed onto Belzagor's hand. </p><p>“Wh-<b><em>HEY </em> </b> <b> <em> ! </em> </b>” </p><p>“Morning Belz.” Misroch slipped into the seat opposite of her. “Have you seen Hornblas yet?” </p><p>“No.” she grumbled, wiping the liquid off with one of the table napkins. Misroch leaned over and took one of her fries. </p><p>She sent them a scathing look. “He hasn’t been out of his room for <b><em>days. </em> </b>” </p><p>“I don’t understand how he can sulk for so fucking long. He lost his job at hot topic and is working with <b><em>me </em> </b> .” Misroch  crushed the fry between their teeth.   “<em>Mmph </em> <em> -- </em> If anything, he should be happy!” </p><p>Belzagor sighed as she cleaned her things off of the table. Misroch took another fry. She swatted their hand away. They still took it. “I don’t know, Misnis. This is Hornblas were talking about. He’s probably just listening to Wink 1059 on repeat. Give him a few more days and he’ll be back! I promise.” </p><p>Misroch pointed an accusatory fry at Belzagor. “I swear if that good for nothing <b> <em> imbecile </em> </b>  doesn’t fucking show up  soon  I will personally shove his stupid car’s steering wheel  so far up his ass he’ll go back to <b><em>heaven. </em></b>He has <b><em>work</em></b> to do! <em>AND</em> we have a fucking gig coming up! A gig that, might I remind you, <b><em>he </em></b>roped <span class="u"><strong>us</strong></span> into!” </p><p>“Opening for Water World is <em>hardly</em> a gig-“ </p><p>“-STILL! If he doesn’t show up we’re fucked! We haven’t even practiced yet and <em>Asm </em> <em> -“ </em> </p><p><em> “-Hello! </em>” </p><p>They both stopped and stared at the newcomer. It was that guy again, the same pecs dude who smelled of mint and morning dew. Somehow, Misroch could still smell the scent off of him. </p><p>Belzagor eyed him warily. “Misroch? Who’s this?” </p><p>“A significant annoyance.” They grumbled. Misroch turned to the intruder. “What the hell are you doing here?” </p><p>He scratched the back of his neck, his tray balanced precariously on one arm. “Well I’m on break, and I was about to ask if I could join you guys, since all the other tables are taken. But it’s okay! Both of you seem a bit… preoccupied, so-“ Misroch’s eyes met his  </p><p>“—Sure. You can join us.” </p><p> </p><p>Misroch’s head snapped over to Belzagor. She remained her usual <em> “ </em> <em> cool </em> <em> ” </em>  and composed  self, though there was a certain glint in her eye that  Misroch  knew counted for a shit eating grin. <b><em>What the hell was she up to now? </em> </b> </p><p>“Oh, really? Thank you!” The guy smiled. What was his name again?  </p><p>He walked over to the other side of the table and slipped into the space beside Misroch. He was closer now--- was that a lemon scent? Could this guy <em> smell  </em>any cleaner? </p><p>He placed his tray on the table and reached over to try and give Belzagor a shake. She raised a hand. He made an “Oh” face and retracted his. “My name's Trent. I work over at hot topic.” </p><p>“Hot Topic? Seriously?” </p><p>Trent chuckled. “Yeah.” </p><p>“Are you the one who replaced Hornblas?” </p><p>“The previous cashier? Yeah, why?” </p><p>Misroch chimed in. “We’ve been trying to look for him for <b><em>days </em> </b> .  The priveleged <em>ass</em> hasn’t shown his face for almost a fucking <em>week</em>now and the time until our gig is running short.” </p><p>Trent chuckled awkwardly and scratched at his cheek. “I’m sorry but I haven’t really met him, perse? He just handed some things over to me before he left. I think he was crying…?”</p><p>Misroch sighed and slumped back in their seat. “Typical.” </p><p>“If it helps—” Trent started, an apologetic smile on his face. “—I’ll tell you guys if I ever see him.” He turned to Misroch then. They felt something drop in their gut. “Do you have a number I could message…?” </p><p>Belzagor took a slip of paper out from her breast pocket and handed it over. There was a sly look on her face. Misroch didn't trust that face. She only ever got it when she was making one of her new inventions, or if Hornblas was there and they were planning on doing something imbecilic. “Here.” She stated. “Appreciate the help.” </p><p>Trent smiled and nodded, carefully folding the paper and slipping it into his <em> own </em>  breast pocket. (How the hell did the guy smile so <em>much </em>anyway? <b><em>Wait</em></b><b><em>.</em></b>) </p><p>“I still haven’t got-“ </p><p>"Is that... a double popped collar?” Misroch blanched. </p><p><em> That  </em>was what seemed to snap Belzagor out of whatever it was she was scheming. Her face morphed in disgust. “And <em>Khakis?”  </em> </p><p>Trent laughed. He picked up his fork and stabbed it through his… Misroch really wanted to puke now. He stabbed his fork through his <em> salad </em> .  His, <em>very  </em> <em> bland</em>, <b><em>salad </em> </b>. </p><p>“I get that a lot.” He chuckled. </p><p>“I think I might be sick.” Belzagor gagged. </p><p>Misroch stole one of Belz' fries and ate it to shove down the bile. </p><p>“Misnis!” She hissed. </p><p>“Misnis?” He queried. </p><p>“Belz.” They sneered. </p><p>“That’s the third fry, dude!” </p><p>“You could have some of my salad if you want.” </p><p>“No fucking way, mortal. I’m not going ANYWHERE near that.” </p><p>“Morta-?” </p><p> </p><p>Belzagor sighed and picked up the fries. They were still crispy hot. Misroch remembered that the nail chips were almost done defrosting on the counter. They needed to get to that later. “You know what? If you want it <em>so bad </em>.” She shoved it in their direction. “You can have it.” </p><p> </p><p>Misroch stared at her for a moment and then narrowed their eyes--Like a cat just <em>waiting</em> to be pacified by being given what it wants.  They took the fries in hand and started to eat them. Belzagor sighed and then turned to Trent. “You were going to say something earlier?” </p><p>The Hot topic employee was a bit dazed, eyes off… <em> elsewhere </em>. Belzagor raised her fingers in front of his face and snapped. He whipped his head towards her, a slight flush on his cheeks. “I’m sorry, I didn’t get that. Did you say something?’ </p><p>Belzagor's eyes narrowed. He looked like he was going to crawl out of his skin. “I was asking for what you were going to say earlier.” </p><p>Trent blinked; and like a switch he was back to his usual self. Somehow, he’d eaten most of his food in the small conversation they’d had. “Oh! Well, I was going to say I haven’t gotten your names…?” </p><p>“It's Belzagor; and the imp over there eating <em>my </em>fries is Misroch.” </p><p>“I am <b> <em> much </em> </b> <b>  </b> better than a lowly  peon of an <em>imp. </em>” Misroch sniffled. </p><p>“Misroch. That's a nice name.”</p><p> </p><p>Belzagor could see from where she sat, the two seconds it took for the words to register in the chef's head. She snorted into her drink. She shifted her eyes to the Hot Topic employee. Trent was looking at his watch, brows furrowed. Then, he smiled and turned to them. “Well, it was nice meeting you both; but I have to get back in eight minutes, and I always arrive five minutes early.” </p><p>Misroch wiped the weird look on their face and scowled in disgust. “You arrive <em>five minutes </em>early<em>? </em> ” Their  hands flailed.<b>“</b><b><em>Why!? "</em></b> </p><p>Trent laughed. “I get that a lot too.” </p><p>He smiled and slipped out of his chair, taking his tray in hand and then subtly nudging the seat back into place. “Well, I have to get going now. Don’t want to be late. See you guys again next time?” </p><p>“No.” Misroch grumbled. </p><p> </p><p>Either he didn’t hear what they’d said, or he’d just ignored it. Trent walked away with the tray. Misroch finished off the fries and turned to Belzagor. There was an odd focus in the way her eyes shifted... she was staring. </p><p> </p><p>Misroch’s eyebrows furrowed and looked over to where her gaze was directed. Trent was still walking away. What could Belz be so focused on? </p><p>“He has a nice ass.” </p><p>Misroch choked.  </p><p> </p><p>A voice came from beside them. “and His clothes are horrible.”  </p><p> </p><p>Misroch screamed. </p><p>“<b><em>WHY </em></b>DO YOU KEEP APPEARING OUT OF  <em> NOW</em><em>HERE </em>!?” </p><p>Xaphan turned to them and blinked. There was an innocent look on her face. Well, as innocent as a demon could look. Which was... well, not much. “I still don’t know why you’re surprised all the time. Was that Hornblas?” </p><p>“<b> <em> I---- </em></b>No it wasn't. You know what?  <em> FINE!  </em> <b> F i n e </b>.” Misroch grit their teeth and placed a steadying hand on their chest. Xaphan was sitting beside them now, Weiner World fries in hand. Breathe in, breathe out. Focus on the sound of Belzagor sipping loudly from a straw. <b><em>“You.” </em></b>They grit out, pointing an accusing finger at their friend. The sipping noises stopped. <b>“</b>I’m snitching on you if that <em>idiot</em> Hornblas comes back.” </p><p>Belzagor snorted and leaned back in her seat. “<b><em>If </em></b>he was here, you  <em> know </em> he’d be staring too.” </p><p>“I don’t understand <span class="u">how</span> <em>you three </em>can look at a man in khakis and find him <em>attractive </em>.” </p><p>“Men are attractive?” Xaphan chimed in.</p><p>“It’s just his ass, Misroch. Besides,<b>YOU </b>don't find <em>anyone </em>attractive.” </p><p> </p><p>Misroch paused. </p><p>“Fair point; but I still don't know why he came here in the first place."</p><p>Belzagor swirled what remained of her drink. The ice clinked against the glass. "Didn't he say he just wanted to sit here?" Misroch's brows furrowed. That couldn't be right. Despite how packed the food court got, the seats were never actually filled in. "No, I met him earlier in the morning. Besides, there were a thousand other open seats inside the food court besides ours. I don't get why you had to let him sit <em>here.</em>"</p><p>Beside them, Xaphan pushed on the plush seat. It made a squeaking noise. "Maybe he just wanted to sit here specifically. It's very comfy." Belzagor smirked. "Yeah, Misroch. Maybe he just wanted to eat out in front of your <em>prestigious </em><em>dining establishment</em>."</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thanks for actually reading through that entire trash pile. I haven't written an actual fanfic in like... three of four years I think.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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